Thirst
by Rot-Chan
Summary: Vincent Valentine has survived as a vampire, living a secret life and draining blood. Sephiroth, his wicked creator, has returned. With the aid of a mysterious girl named Yuffie, Vincent plots to destroy him and remain the last vampire. Yuffentine.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello everyone. I hope you will enjoy this Final Fantasy VII fiction. I enjoyed the story "The Last Vampire" by C. Pike so much that I decided to use a faintly similar plot and incorporate Pike's writing style with my own in a FFVII story. _

_Important notes: This is an AU, yet not an AU - there is still Midgar, Kalm, etc., but no 'Meteorfall', Vincent in a coffin for 30 years, etc. So keep in mind that it's the same setting with entirely new events. _

_Vincent, for his appearance, is almost a cross between how he looked as a Turk and how he looks after the experimentation. So, somewhat shorter hair, not as 'dark' clothing, but still quite dark. He tries to blend in, for the most part, in the story so he won't be too noticeable to anyone taking interest in him and possibly discovering that he's a vampire_**.**

_None of the characters will be extremely out-of-character_.

**_Thanks for reading. Please leave me a review after you are finished telling me how it was. The next chapters will be a bit shorter so it won't take forever to read. Updates will be weekly. Thank you to everyone who favorites/alerts/reviews. I appreciate your support. _**

**_-Rot-chan_**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Last Vampire or Final Fantasy VII. **

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Thirst

**CHAPTER --- 1**

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For 5,000 years I have been a vampire. I cannot remember the name I was given at birth; instead I am Vincent, the vampire. I would rather be called nothing, but this sacred name I cannot deny, for Sephiroth, creator of our monstrous blood and kind, spoke my name upon his lips when he created me.

My creation was the time God graced our tarnished planet; thought today it is considerably worse. Now the world rests somberly in her ruins, destroyed from a third world war, misdirected nuclear missiles, and the near end of humankind.

The Midgar streets below my window are ashen and scarred with a thousand miniscule lines only visible to my ancient eyes, eyes stained vermillion from age and the consuming of blood. I can hear the breathing of a rat in the apartment building six floors below my room.

My hypersensitive sense of smell brings out the thick scent of must and rotting wood to my nose and I am suddenly nauseous, feeling strangely ill despite having stayed here for two days.

I am a strange creature indeed.

My own blood has given me powers beyond even my comprehension. Breathing, eating, sleeping…they are necessary yet they are somehow unnecessary, another contradiction to add to the many contradictions that make me who I am.

I can breathe like any human, yet I am able to hold my breath for over a day's time until I am desperate for air.

Food is not a part of my regular diet, and I can go for months without it.

Sleep is optional, unless I am severely injured. But if that ever was to happen, it would be simpler to remain awake, refrain from drinking blood and allow death to come.

I have been waiting for it.

In the eyes of human beings, I am Stoker's Dracula, a Transylvanian descendentcoming to rip out their throats in the dark. True, I drain the blood of humans, though only if I am in need of a feeding after a long four or five months without it, but it's not worth stalking them and playing games in the shadows prior to doing this.

Also, daylight does not stop me from pulling someone into a dark alley (how appropriate for my reputation) where no one is near and suck them dry. Rays of the sun are only an annoyance, nothing more; they cannot reduce me to ash or stone.

Truthfully I did find amusement in watching Nosfertatuand Claudia bare their fangs and thrive in the moonlight, for it was humorous to see human beings so infatuated over an animated corpse with human tendencies. Vampires, it seems, have always interested humans everywhere.

Myths, folklore, books have been created to capture my essence and strike fear in small children.

My essence, for I am the last vampire.

 **_THIRST_** 

For days I have remained hidden.

My estate in Kalm – thousands of acres of land with surrounding dead wood – is locked up. The beautiful mansion is aged and has yet to be restored, but it _would_ look terribly out of the ordinary to add a gazebo or heated swimming pool that aristocracy could hardly afford.

For me, it would be very simple to add any additions to the home as I pleased. My bank account is suspiciously wealthy with millions of dollars saved. The explanation for this sum of cash is "a large inheritance from the death of my relatives." It's almost sad how using so little of my hypnotic power can convince the tellers to believe me and not say a word of it to any one else.

The note I received just two days earlier was formal and carefully scripted, arriving at my door from a personal messenger:

**To a Mr. Valentine: **

_I wish to meet with you. _

_You have interested me for quite some time. _

_I would wish to speak with you as soon as it is possible…_

_A mere exchange of words, that is all. _

_-Hojo _

On the envelope, which I now hold in my hand, there is a return address in messy calligraphic scribe. The sender – this 'Hojo' – resides on the outskirts of Midgarin the secluded business district where the lower middle class live and small businesses lie.

Somehow I have become a bit paranoid. It is not in my nature to assume the position of the prey, for I am His evil creation and the ideal predator. Yet something unnerves me about the sudden request from this strange man.

I am almost expecting an ambush when I go to see him that could lead to a discovery of my blood. At this moment, I am in the center of Midgar in this plain hotel. I left my estate to avoid those who could also be watching me closely; really it was no bother, for traveling from my mansion to Midgar by foot with superhuman speed only took a few hours' time. It only agitates me having to be in this city that has fared far worse than any other since the near apocalypse over three hundred years ago.

A _thing_ such as myself cannot be discovered, or the human race will once more be threatened with great danger and extinction.

I am preparing to see this Hojo, and I am praying to Areith and the Holy that have rejected me and sent me to Him that this is not a mistake. This time, I will hail a cab.

 **_THIRST_** 

Hojo has a bizarre glint in his dull mortal eyes.

This is the first thing I notice about this middle-aged man, who is a lonely drunk with tied back hair and an ill-fitting suit jacket.

We are sitting in his tiny office, a room with few personal belongings. Branching out my senses I realize the extent of this man's addiction and find that he is quite sick; he will die in less than five years of a failed liver, or perhaps lack of mentality stability through suicide.

Hojo's secretary, a woman who's easy-to-read emotions screamed promiscuity, allowed me to enter Hojo's office. The ramshackle building has a poor patch job on the roof, and a window near the entrance to the main building is severely cracked.

I discover that Hojois a private detective as I use the ability of my enhanced sight to read the business card in the holder on his desk. At this I smile a small smile as I await the accusations and pointless questions the half-sane investigator shall throw at me.

It's grown quite boring sitting around in my mansion without anyone to toy with. I even find it necessary to go beyond reading books and consuming blood every so often.

"Hello, Vincent."

"Hello, Doctor," I say, careful to hide the fearsome knowledge and wisdom collected in my ancient voice. Instead I project myself as a normal, twenty-something man. I play the part well, for I am dressed in black pants, boots, dark gloves and a black shirt covered by a deep maroon cloak fraying at the ends sweeping the floor. I will enjoy playing with this man, cat and mouse.

Pacing the room, Hojo glances at me every few moments and I allow the cape to drop and show the amused expression on my face framed by unruly dark hair. Upon entering the office I noticed that the doctor hid a standard nine millimeter handgun in his belt. It seems the doctor thinks I am dangerous…though maybe it is wise that he does.

"You truly are intriguing, Mr. Valentine! The names – Set, Kura…why not go by just one title?" Hojo inquires, and I can clearly sense the madness in his voice.

"It is not of your concern." I truly do find it bothersome speaking, so I allow my voice to darken only slightly, making Hojo shift uncomfortably. My presence will surely bring him an unsettling feeling he will not be able to place.

"May I ask you another question?" Hojo says and clears his throat. He seems to be itching to drink. I find it almost flattering that he tried to be sober when speaking to me today. Perhaps if I must kill him (which I'm certain I shall do) I'll do it quickly.

"I've discovered that you own one of the wealthiest manors in Kalm, estimated to be worth 4.6 million in value. Is this correct?"

Choosing to remain quiet, I only cross my legs so I do not look entirely still. By nature, human beings are restless creatures. I do not want to appear as motionless as a statue. Though I suppose these factors do not matter anyway, since in the end he will be rid of.

"Do you deny this statement?" Hojo asks. He is starting to feel confident, I read as I penetrate my red gaze into his flat black eyes. This annoys me.

Choosing my words carefully I respond, "I am rich. I don't deny this. Is this a problem?" My voice takes on a sharper edge, more of my true self slipping through as a bead of sweat rolls down Hojo's forehead that's not from the need to drink.

"I-I am only perplexed as to how you managed to withhold your money after the widespread economic failure, with no relatives to speak of."

Now I grow impatient. This man has been well informed and has revealed too much to me.

"Hojo – may I call you Hojo? – I am not going to speak of my past, the matters of my bank account and family. I will not tell you what you wish to hear –"

This foolish man interrupts me in a moment of blind madness as he scrambles to corner me. "But how is this so? You…you are incredibly rich yet you are not known!"

Of course: an alias. The doctor has an alias. I am frustrated with myself for not having figured this out sooner. It would have saved me a greater deal of time than suffering through this boring back and forth banter.

An agitated sigh escapes my lips and I rise in a blur of movement. The doctor blinks rapidly and takes a hesitant step back.

"Who is working with you?" I ask, allowing my voice to slowly eclipse with hidden satanic intent. Fearfully the doctor moves behind his desk. I watch his shaky hand quickly begin to reach for his gun underneath his wrinkled coat.

"It's useless to reach for your gun. I will kill you before you release the safety."

Now Hojo is truly afraid. "I don't have a weapon. I just want us to talk, you see?" He is lying. Only a truly talented person can come close to telling a lie to me, so I've grown to dislike liars, I suppose.

Ignoring the tempting idea of using the heel of my boot to kick his scrawny head from his shoulders, I try to pry the information from the pathetic man.

"I will not repeat myself: who is working with you?" I ask in a deathly monotone. Hojo's back bumps against the window behind his desk. A few crows sitting near the ledge caw loudly and fly off.

"I'm not...There was never…" Hojo stammers pitifully, and I darken my eyes.

"I am a vampire." I reveal me age of 2,000 years completely, my tone dark and sinister, horrific. I let him see that the nightmares he had of me are true, the tales are real, and that I shall make waste of him properly.

"I am thousands of years old. I have killed before and I shall kill again. I believe you, Doctor, will be my next victim." Tilting my head slightly, I once more read his emotions and find that he is too scared to speak, his pulse rapid. I wait for a response, but he tells me nothing. I've never had tremendous patience.

I sigh. "You should have taken better care of your liver."

In an almost slow-motion chain of events, I watch Hojo take out the gun in his belt as I assume the form of a pouncing jaguar, lunging for the wretched man.

My right forearm makes contact with his clavicle and chest, and I hear the satisfying crack of his platelets and bones before he has a finger even remote to the safety. Hojo flies backward and hits the wall behind us, the gun now somewhere near the closed office door.

Cautiously I approach him, hoping to Aerith I didn't attack him to powerfully. A moment later I hear his shallow breathing, for his lungs are slowing filling with crimson blood. He is a vault of data and I must clean him out before he dies.

Leaning over the dying man, I use my tip of my favorite gun, fondly called Cerberus for its fatal triple barrels, to tilt his chin towards me, forcing Hojo to stare into my eyes.

He closes them. What a defiant pest. Tears stream down his jaundice skin and mix with a fountain of blood pouring from his nose and mouth as I try to ignore that I haven't fed in what has seems to be ages.

"Who is your informant?" I ask, my silken persuasion making tendril like waves through the air.

"_Nngh_…S-Shin..ra."

"Shinra."

"Y-yu…" He can barely form words now. I have foiled my chances, so it seems, of protecting my own identity.

"Where can I find him? Tell me."

"N..No…"

My anger gripping me in a momentary hold, I take my gun and pistol whip the doctor's head off of his shoulders, sending the tumbling mass of blood and dark hair flying across the floor. It bounces a few times before smashing against the wall.

Silence sweeps over the room and I sigh aloud. Now I have made this twice as difficult as it was moments earlier. Branching out my senses I find that three doors over, someone is curious to what the noise is, and will rise from their desk in less than two minutes to come investigate the disruption to their paper work.

With great speed I quickly roll up the revolting headless body in the carpet on the floor and use a plastic bag with a bottle of cheap booze inside to store the doctor's head. I go to his laptop - a very basic machine that the middle class use from hundreds of years ago - and tuck it under my arm, opening all of his drawers in a series of blurred movements to check for important files.

Thirty seconds remain.

As predicted, curiosity seizes the other investigator, and I hear the chair push out from a desk on the floor three rooms to my left. With the weightless rolled-up body under one arm, the laptop under the other and the bag in my free hand, I quickly leave the office and head straight for the emergency exit, which thankfully does not activate a general alarm system.

Heading straight for the woods behind the office through the empty alley ways I wish it could have been simple - burning the building down would have been effective to erase any possible evidence. But the secretary has a husband, I discovered; it isn't worth the many losses.

I dig a hole ten feet deep with my hands then dump the bloody rug and the matching head into it and cover it up with the damp soil. I am glad that I hardly got any of the doctor's blood on my garments.

Walking back to the business section's inner city streets, far from the doctor's office, I notice that my cloth gloves have unfortunately been splattered with the blood from my attack. As I pass by a dumpster I quickly slip them inside, sure that the few people walking by will not notice, for it's near evening and not many are outside.

Quite easily I hail a cab and allow myself to relax in the back seat as I ask for the driver to take me to the hotel's address.

Soon I begin to think, my ancient eyes growing unfocused.

Who is this Shinra?

Why did he send Hojo after me?

And what do they wish to gain from my capture?

An unnerving feeling passes over me and I shift, my intuition seeming to be wracked with malice. I must use the evidence I have on the laptop on the seat beside me to discover who the alias is and find him before he finds me.

Tonight, I think as I try to calm my restless thoughts, I shall allow myself to feed - I shall use a woman, and take just enough blood to comfort her and erase her short term memories.

For some reason, this does not satisfy me at all.

 **_THIRST_** 


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I apologize for extending the wait. I was having problems with my computer because it is quite lousy, and struggled with revisions and the overall editing process to make this chapter more comprehensible for readers. _

_Important notes: This is an AU, yet not an AU - there is still Midgar, Kalm, etc., but no 'Meteorfall', Vincent in a coffin for 30 years, etc. So keep in mind that it's the same setting with entirely new events._

_-This chapter covers 3/4 of Vincent's history. The change into a vampire will come a bit chapter is already pushing 3,000+ words, and although I know some readers enjoy longer chapters I have found a few do not like chapters very long. _

_-I included an 'excerpt' from an Asian mythology book Vincent apparently reads. There is no such book to my knowledge containing info. on the k'uei, so I decided to make one up and mention that as a possible origin for Vincent and his Creator (Sephiroth). _

_-This story takes an interesting view on religion. I find it interesting that some people think God is a woman - hence, the idea of 'Aerith, Her Holy' was born. Please do not let this confuse you. Think of her presence like a God gracing the Earth. Think of the Bible. It's not impossible. _

_**Thank you for reading. I appreciate all reviews, alerts, and favorites for this fanfiction. I am sorry this chapter was not as short as I promised, but the history is vivid and I hope everyone enjoys it. Please leave a review and tell me if you enjoyed how I explained his background, the origins, finding Yuffie, etc. The romance will soon develop.**_

_**-Rot-Chan**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Last Vampire or Final Fantasy VII. **

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**Thirst**

**CHAPTER --- 2**

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It's strange to think that some people believe God is a man.

Perhaps that sounds strange…but the only lord I have ever known, since I do not consider my creator to be a lord of any kind, is Aerith, her Holy. 'Her Holy'…I can remember the villagers calling her that thousands of years ago.

It has been days since the death of the wretched doctor. His bodiless head, jaundice skin stained with crimson blood and face permanently frozen in the shadow of death, haunts my thoughts.

Pathetically I have been hiding, not speaking, not giving my name…hiding and trying to find those who want my head – or, to be precise, my blood.

Now I roam Wutai, restless. _Hungry_.

It makes it no easier to tame the beast lurking beneath my flesh, taunting me as I walk the desolate streets, naturally graceful as if the world's pulse and its invisible light sweeps me forward. I do not stumble, trip or stop to glance at a passing couple or lonely drunk, laughing lightly into the night, making me gnash my back teeth as I hear their slurred calls.

This hunger penetrates my mind; yet it also somehow pushes further, making me desperate, a weakling mimicking a dumb beast waiting to be fed in its cage. I scowl silently, my cloak whipping the air behind me as I walk on silently, faster.

During this time, this time of such terrible need that reduces me to a fanged monster and nothing more, the memories come flooding back. Now, I remember a time when my life – if you can call this _life _a life at all – was human, flesh and bones and a healthy beating heart.

The kind bittersweet memory.

**_THIRST_**

I was twenty-seven when I heard of the Lord. I was amazed that such a being could grace this Earth; at this time, when I was mortal and quite young, these possibilities were incredible and often stirred religious unity and excitement within families of small villages and towns.

It was Ancient Japan. It is now the end of the 23rd century, and we can't truly recall this time period, yet it is still clear in my memories. Those who study history are more interested how we found the cure to illnesses and technological setbacks, not of our ancient past.

Our village was small and almost everyone farmed. We traded with Western Asians and had a commoner's life, but it was a happy one, I like to think. After these many years have passed it is still clear to me how different life was when I lived as a mortal.

Deeply within my memories I can still see many things that pained me, and others that brought me happiness in my human life. It was not a long life, compared to the lives of many other older travelers who came from all parts of Asia by horses and carts to trade with the Northerners.

At twenty-seven I had a beautiful wife named Lucrecia. Her name is never spoken aloud, and I have yet to hear of someone of modern times have this name; instead, I quietly say her name in my mind when I think of her, prettily still as she slept at night, vibrant awake and always tending to others.

In my village, we heard of the Lord passing through. This was a time full of many mysteries and folklore. We were never sure of the cause of typhoons, rain storms or droughts to the crops we grew; it was before humans were advanced enough to predict weather patterns and not blame natural occurrences on wrathful Gods.

Lucrecia and I were married for less than a year before I discovered that she was pregnant. It was, unlike many of the pregnancies of modern society, something to be celebrated. There was no cause for anxiety, for families lived together and cared for one another. We looked after our own.

She seemed to be overjoyed when she heard of this news; her smile was unmistakably one of great anticipation, for she was very religious and believed that the Lord could perhaps give us a blessing before the birth of the child. I shall never forget that about her.

There was much talk as to why the Lord was gracing our village. We were in modest numbers, though larger than some; it was a mystery that naturally made some suspicious of the powers of this being, and what business they had with us.

I was not suspicious. Rather, I was intrigued. In my late twenties, I had grown to appreciate the world and would often be helping my father with trade. I was at an age where I was inquisitive and curious instead of wary and questioning.

Lucrecia spoke much of the Lord before She came. I was also growing a bit enthralled at the idea of a 'Holy' being coming to our home, though I did not show it.

Although we were not sure at that time whether they were rumors or truthful stories, everyone had heard of the wonders this being had worked. There was much skepticism, naturally, for the Lord was said to have inhabited a woman's body, not a man's. But to many, it was no issue – they instead desired to have her powers of healing and strength and it was decided that she would be accepted instead of turned away.

We did not learn her name until she arrived that day. It was spring, and the sun was low in the sky with many clouds on the horizon telling of coming rain.

I was with my father when she arrived. Looking upon her as she walked through the entrance to our village, I felt at first as though I should avert my gaze; there truly was some holy quality about this person that I could not place, but her aura spoke of a placid nature only a helpful god or goddess could have.

Aerith the Holy entered our village without speaking a word. She nodded in thanks when the village elders offered her our finest goods we received from trading with Western Asians, but made no move to accept them.

We all drew closer, and I found Lucrecia to be at my side at once, removed from our small stone home. We slowly bowed to the Lord, feeling her warm presence pervade the area, feeling indebted to a person we had never met before in our lives. She truly was God, it seemed. Today I only smirk when I think of the playful nature of her ways and the mischievous light behind her beautiful eyes.

"Please, my Lord. Speak to us. Let us hear your words and receive your grace so we may pray to atone for our sins," the head elder said softly as we continued to bow deeply, allowing the dirt to seep into our light cloth clothes.

My heart felt strangely full as I kept my eyes from God. Her beauty was calm, and struck you beyond sight but rather within; her face shone softly, and her being radiated the power of nature, Mother Earth, as if she created this earth. I was, for a moment, sure that she had.

Even at this time in my distant past, I was a person of few words with firmly held emotions…yet to this day I can never forget how I was momentarily held in her grasp.

"I have come to heal you, to listen to your words and tell you of my travels. Yet I have come to warn you as well, for this earth is both a kind and cruel place, and no person shall be spared from the evils that leak from the Heavens, evils that penetrate this planet that even someone such as I cannot stop.

"There is the coming of judgment. It shall take many and make them of their own kind. They will come as demons in human skin and use soft voices to take children from their mothers and human souls from the living. The Judgment is not of Heaven, but rather of Hell and fire, and you must overcome fate with will and belief of the Lord."

Fear was present as a few nervously murmured to each other.

Then, there was a tearful voice. "What Judgment, my Lord? Please, spare us! Stay and spare our families… Please keep us living, Lord God, for our children and our people healthy."

Lord God smiled a small smile, but it reached me as I dared to look at this person. I felt warmth spread over my body and settle in my chest near my throat as I immediately turned my eyes away. My eyes, naturally the color of fire and crimson (ironically like blood), would not please the Lord. She would not want to see them, for they would make me appear to perhaps be the person of Hell's Judgment she was speaking of.

"I shall give you my grace and prayer, and pray for your people, but I cannot tame the beasts of Hell."

These words are still clear, for I am now one of those monsters.

These words I could not ignore. At night time, when the moon was huge and full overhead, Her Holy's words would echo throughout my mind and make me restless, unable to find sleep. But there was nothing I could do but try to forget, try to live life ignorantly in my silence.

Aeirth's presence was, I have believed, a blessing. She would listen kindly and not judge those who committed sins such as blasphemy, adultery, or bringing harm to another – Aerith only offered words of healing for those who desired to atone.

We would, in return, cook her fine meals and bring her wines to drink, give her silk garments and perfumes for her hair as she stayed with us for what seemed to be two short weeks. It was both mystifying and oddly acceptable when she refused them politely with quiet powerful words. No one wished to question why she had come to warn us any longer.

It was after Aerith's departure that I felt a strange feeling, growing deeply within my chest.

The day of her departure, the sky's clouds resembled a field of blooming orchids and flowers, rich with red and yellow hues in the horizons with giant clouds. As she left the village that she looked at me, only me, and our eyes met for an impossibly infinite moment…so many things passed through my thoughts, I felt overwhelmed and once more looked away. I parted my lips to say good-by, but I could say nothing; words had failed me, though Lucrecia did not notice as she stood waving at my side, the baby soon due to arrive.

As the days passed, spring slowly grew into summer. There was a change of temperature surely arising, and in the farmland the air began to grow hot and sticky.

I would often stare at the sunset every night and try to reflect on what I felt when the Lord looked at me. Surely, I believed, She must have been speaking to me without truly using words. Aerith was too peaceful to bring malice to anyone. Yet I felt strange.

This was a feeling that still shakes through me when I think of my Creator. It was the feeling of his looming arrival in our village.

It was just a few weeks after the Lord's departure that I saw him. My Creator, striding through with a group of traders, leading the men, one of them badly wounded.

The village elders approached him. He was a strange man, differing from the others in obvious ways. His hair was the color of dull silver, and his eyes show in a bizarre way, but we could find no proper reason to turn the group away. They carried no weapons to harm us, and instead looked needy.

"We are in need of a place to stay. My companion has been injured on our travels. We shall pay you in gratitude and any goods you desire. Is it possible we may use your village, for some time?" The leader spoke, his voice rough yet smooth, brisk like the upstream banks of the river near the surrounding forest.

As he spoke, I almost felt as if his eyes were trained on me, and I walked back inside the stone doorway where I stood, watching.

"_Beasts in human skin…" _

Her Holy's words rang out in my mind, as clear as when she had spoken them.

**_THIRST_**

Looking back on my past, I can see the truth of the tales scribed. Pacing these lonely sidewalks, gazing into dark alleyways, listening to homeless stir as they lie against the pavement do nothing to tear my mind from this blossoming rage, fueled by misery.

"_Each human is said to have been born with two souls, p'o and hun... If the p'o stays in the body after death, myths say that the corpse reanimates and the**k'uei**, or blood drinker, is born. This was incredibly rare, and only occurred if the person was satanic enough in the mortal life to have their lower spirit stay trapped in their body."_

When I read these words in the book of mythology, a cold hand wrapped around my heart and gripped it violently. Could this possibly be me? Could I have been destined for the malevolent, hellish punishment for the bad deeds of my soul? Or was I instead a miracle from the Devil's flesh?

A sudden fury rises in my chest. A hatred deep and calm, billowing onyx tendrils crawling like pretty vines from my heart to my stomach to my throat, taking all control.

"_God damn it."_

My words, full and powerful and reeking of a darkness rivaling nightmares and the evil endless sky, rumble throughout my chest. I shiver as my body shudders in delight of anticipation of consumption of blood, an instinctual thrill spreading through my body. The blood I drank in Midgar is not enough to satiate this unnerving anxiety and malice budding within.

_Not nearly enough…warm and hot…rusty metallic spice and- _

Suddenly I am moving, running, a shadow of the night. The streets are too bare. The drunks will not do. I am in no mood to taste inebriated blood after....

At this thought I cannot refrain from growling, fangs bared, a true monster am I!

I turn a corner, no mortal in sight. I am searching, senses branched and so sensitive I am sure they will snap and recoil like dying foxglove -

Then, at once I see her, beautiful little girl child. _How I enjoy sucking the blood of a child, untainted blood without sin...._

No, a small woman, short brown hair, bony shoulders slouched posture easy target -

Her lips move yet I am hundreds of feet away and I am hearing her delicate words, reaching my ears, a child's rhyme. How fitting death is for the weak and alone, standing on this empty street, long empty street without a motorcar or person in sight. You have fallen into this trap, you are my prey, this fate is of your own mistake!

_Fall to the luring voice of the beast, sweet and as smooth as bloodied silk...._

My senses are exact... so unaware of my presence, tears fall and perhaps an uneven pulse in her heart, such a beautiful blood soaked organ with four delicious chambers, pumping in and out, taking and giving my greatest desire -

_"Mary Mary quite contrary_

_How does your garden grow?" _

Her quivering voice tempts me, draws me closer -

_"With silver bells and cockle shell_

_And pretty maids all in a -"_

Claws under finger nails protrude through her back, grasping her; saliva and venom mix and drip from beautiful ivory fangs that lure in the eyes, suck in pinprick pupils and human breath catches in her throat. This woman, small and tiny human...I wish to see her face, I want to see the craven in her eyes.

She makes no attempt to stop me. A pistol falls and hits the ground. A dull thud echoing her intentions.

_Once so happy, why so sad?_ Interesting indeed....

Turning her around, scanning her - gaunt pale face, tired limbs, aching pulse that drives me insane -

Lucrecia's eyes.

Large eyes, caught between this life and the next, pupils in an ethereal oasis. Lucrecia's eyes. They are her eyes.

I am selfish. I am the monster. My fangs reach her neck, dripping venom, blood lust gone with the retracting of the willowy tendrils, dark night sky slipping back down my throat.

_I will have her back once more._

**_THIRST_**


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This chapter took a few weeks to write. I've been very busy with school, so please don't be too mad about the wait for updates. To make up for the prolonged wait, I decided to make this chapter a bit longer. I'm not too satisfied with the ending, but it was necessary for the plot. I hope you don't find it too unrealistic. _

_[Important notes: This is an AU, yet not an AU - there is still Midgar, Kalm, etc., but no 'Meteorfall', Vincent in a coffin for 30 years, etc. So keep in mind that it's the same setting with entirely new events.]_

_- I included a sequence where Vincent uses his powers to delve into Yuffie's short term memories/subconscious. Her thoughts are in bold. I was trying to make it seem like Vincent was reliving the event himself and watching it play out through her point of view, but limited. _

_A much shorter a/n than usual :) Once again I apologize for neglecting this story, and I hope you will still continue to read/review in the future. Thanks for the support so far, and 10 great reviews._

_-Rot _

**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Last Vampire or FFVII

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**Thirst**

**CHAPTER --- 3**

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When I realize what I have done, I am gripped by a shadow of horror. Self-loathing...disgust.

Despite what legends have claimed, I cannot create another vampire simply by biting a mortal. I must mix my blood with theirs – it is best if a human consumes my blood, drinks it, until they gag with the loss of life and feel their mortality beginning to crumble, as their internal organs fight a battle against the poison slowly spreading within.

But this girl...

A part of me wretches. I am suddenly distinctly aware of what I have done. Though taking the blood so violently was a crime, it gave me the clarity to understand the horror of it. Quite the contradiction.

She fell, limp against me; tiny and frail, bones protruding beneath her skin. It was a strange knowing that suddenly the girl's life was in my hands, a fragile and tiny life, and that I could perhaps protect it rather than destroy it.

But I would have destroyed her if I hadn't regained my senses. The darkness creeping up my spine disappears. The feral part of me – the longing and desire for blood – is sated. My mind is no longer clouded, hazy; with the puncture of my fangs into her skin, I was regained my sight, could see the microscopic detail of the pores of her skin, the thread in her clothes.

The girl is ill, that I know. She is a frail and sickly human being, but not from physical ailments – seemingly from deserting the will to live. I touch her gently; feel her pulse, check for bradycardia, use my sight to examine the wound near her throat. Her heart rate is slow, but she isn't in danger; the tiny holes near her jugular did not pierce the skin to kill. I never stalk to kill when I am in the dire need to drink.

Her breathing is heavy. A low breeze whips through the alleyway, empty of all other living souls. We are completely surrounded by towering, dilapidated houses of the inner-city. Wutai. What a terrible place to be. It is filled with beggars, drunks, gamblers. Few pure remain.

It is understandable that this girl would resort to suicide. Humans have interesting, fascinating minds. They are easily influenced by the actions and words of others, especially those close to them; and it is usually those closest to them that can cause them great joy or great harm. I am almost certain that she chose death to escape someone – or perhaps something – in her life.

I touch the girl, feel for where my nails pierced her back. The claw marks will leave no scars. She leans against me, feather-light. It is apparent that she has not eaten in almost a day's time.

I allow myself to support her, as it is not difficult to hold her tiny body. As we touch physically, I focus and gather the necessary information I seek, to clear up the cloud of confusion, and allow myself to slowly slip into her subconscious mind.

**–--**

_She runs, prey being chased. _

_A man, behind her – man, no a monster, she is sure he's a monster. _

_There is her breath all around, in a sickly sweet cloud, tainted with the light spray of blood on her lips. Her ankle is twisted; she is gripping the gun, her left hand is bleeding - _

_Thoughts are scattered, swarming angrily through her brain, loud and horrified enough for me to comprehend - _

_**- Let me get out alive they killed him they'll kill me too please God **-_

_Thunder rolls; a damp mist sprays her clothing, cloth torn at her shoulder, thudding footsteps echoing in the vacated streets, two more of them following now - _

_She is confused, afraid, running for her life, slipping away from the murder scene in the middle of the night. A street light flickers, the footsteps are louder, I sense five total, all toting guns - _

**_- Why is this happening God need to get out -_**

_Her hair whips against her face, the gun is shaking, she does not want to use it, does not want their blood on her hands, the killers of her father...._

**---**

I am suddenly rejected from her thoughts.

Hyperaware of her thoughts, emotions, mental state, I feel suddenly very crowded, unable to delve into her mind any longer.

There is a groan, faint. I realize she is regaining some consciousness. I look up above to see that the sun will rise in less than four hours.

Drinking from this girl – Kisaragi Yuffie, the name I gathered when I explored her subconscious – has cleared her of the memory, of my attack and the pain; but I did not feed enough for her to lose recollection of everything before it. She will remember toting the gun, running from her pursuers. She will remember it all.

It is clear to me now: this girl was not attempting suicide. Childlike and lost at nineteen, she was fleeing from the scene of a crime with no intentions of suicide. In her thoughts, scattered and frantic as they were, it was clear that her her father was murdered by the men following her. I was unable to see, from her minds eye, their faces. Of course she would not look back.

Why was she being chased? For what reason was her father targeted and killed? In this exploration I have only given myself more questions. But I do not branch my senses and try to read her again. It would not be wise to try.

For a moment I think. I am sure that if she was being followed before, just hours ago, the men may still be looking for her. The city is smaller than Midgar; it is meant for travelers and provides few adequete places to hide.

I quickly go over my options.

Leave the girl – but this is wrong. It is, in some way, inhumane of me. How funny that I associate myself at all with humanness. But this is no laughing matter. I cannot desert her and let her die.

Take the girl – but this could be incredibly risky. It is evident that I too am being hunted by someone who knows entirely too much about my identity. We are both on the lamb. I am unsure.

Return the girl – but to where? Certainly not home. Her home, it seems, is the scene of the murder. Most likely her father's attackers entered the home, murdered the man, and went after the girl. Yuffie.

She is groaning quietly, in obvious discomfort. I take off my cloak and wrap it around her body, offering her no warmth of my own, but a covering for her wounds. Her wounds – I should have considered them. I must get her wounds taken care of at least.

Wutai is not safe. We will return to Midgar, to the outskirts, but not back to my hotel. Shinra's men could be waiting for me there, a secret ambush planned for my capture. Kalm is also not an option. Returning to my mansion would be even more foolish.

"Kisaragi Yuffie..." I mutter aloud. I shake my head. I really ought to be careful about who I bite in these modern times.

I gather her in my arms; feel a trickle of blood from her shoulder drip onto my arm. But her blood is not tantalizing to me now – her blood has revealed entirely too much. With a few agile leaps, I scale the two buildings and hop onto the roof, and begin my journey to Midgar's edge.

_**THIRST**_

When the girl – Yuffie awakens, I can sense her disorientation, her fear and confusion. Her emotions are jumbled, overtaken with anxiety; her heart begins to pound, a quick, steady increase of her pulse booming in both of our ears.

I turn to her. Soften my stare as much as possible, to protect her from the sense of my true age. I say nothing.

From the moment I began my escape from Wutai, I knew I would have to be careful, quick. I would not stop for anyone, even if that meant their death. But I was able to escape without killing a civilian, running too fast for the careless human eye to detect, though slowly enough to ensure I would not break the girl's spine.

We entered the border of Midgar sooner than I anticipated, which was to my advantage. It was easier to manipulate the will of the man at the desk of our hotel so early in the day. The employe at the desk listened to my words. My eyes pierced his. I held the girl in my arms. I didn't want any questions about her.

"Listen carefully – you will give us a suite on the ninth floor. You will give me the key. You will tell no one. You will not remember doing this. " The persuasion in my voice was thick and powerful. The man's will was easy to bend. He was tired, middle-aged - an easy target.

Accordingly I got our suite, room 205, while the man, in an almost hypnotic state walked back to his desk. Taking the girl to the hospital is not an option. I do not want anyone seeing her in this state, getting down her name or mine. The hospital personel will ask far too many questions, will be instantly suspicious if me. It is too great a risk.

Carefully I laid Kisaragi Yuffie on the bed; removed the cloak, and examined the shredded cloth on her back. My nails left scratches, red and swollen, some of the tissue of her flesh torn. I went into the bathroom and examined the drawers. Tiny shampoo bottles and towels. Some bandages, tiny and large, with a first aid kit. I took them.

The puncture wounds in her neck are already fading. They are not as deep and grisly as they were just thirty minutes ago. Strangely, wounds from my fangs do not take very long to heal. But it cannot be said the same for my other attacks.

I can sense that Yuffie will awaken soon. Her mind is coming up from a deep haze and stress. I quickly, with inhuman speed, wipe the cuts and bandage them. They do not require stitches. They will heal in a few days' time.

I examine my surroundings. Our suite has a television with tiny cracks around the edges only visible to my eyes; a carpet that also has microscopic stains; fresh sheets but unwashed mattress covers; a tiny wet bar with orange juice and an assortment of tea and liquor; a desk with a telephone to call for room service. I remember Yuffie's hunger and think about calling for food.

Then, she begins to awaken.

In response to her movements, the groggy murmuring, I stiffen. I do not know how a mortal will react in the presence of a vampire, in such close proximity. In the past I have hardly ever taken a human as my companion; for centuries I have tolerated humans and interacted with them but never...cared for them, or befriended many. I fear they will become so afraid that they will want to reveal me to the rest of the world, thus resulting in their demise. And I don't prefer to kill when it isn't necessary.

Yuffie stirs. Her eyes – the eyes that created the urge in me, the strange eyes, watery and huge, so oddly similar to my lost wife's. I am struck by her eyes for the second time. They bare such a strange resemblance to Lucrecia's eyes. I feel I am looking at her once again, as I did thousands of years ago, meeting her gaze and feeling her devotion and her human companionship for me.

But I do not feel those emotions from this girl, when I return her gaze. She has fully regained consciousness; she rests on her elbows. Yuffie's eyes are wide with wonder and terror. My appearance often does this to human beings.

"Who are -"

I know I cannot let this escalate into some kind of battle between us – the girl struggling to get out of the room, to leave, to scream. "Listen to me – you are Yuffie Kisaragi. I am only here to help you. Earlier you were being attacked. And I saved your life."

I choose my words carefully, add a sense of empathy to them, to keep her from fearing me. I sense her body relaxing a little; but Yuffie does not entirely trust me. This is sensible of her. I can already tell that her will is not as easy to bend as the man's at the desk was.

"I am only here to help you," I repeat slowly and carefully, my voice smooth and soothing. "I am not like the men who were chasing you tonight. I am on your side."

Yuffie coughs. She clears her throat, thirsty. With mortal speed, I very slowly walk over and get a bottle of water. I do not trust the tap.

Yuffie accepts is with trembling hands. Her eyes dart about the room, avoiding my face. I furrow my brow. "Do not be afraid. I am - "

"Look...I _get_ it, you're one of the good guys," she says. Her breathing is shaky. "Can you - just leave me _alone_?"

I decide it will be best to do as she asks. "As you wish," I say. I exit the bedroom and stand by the door. I feel that I must do as she says to avoid confrontation between us.

By her bedroom door, I stand very still, listening. I keep up my guard, even though I am in no immediate danger. But there is something odd about this. I listen within, through the paper thin walls, and hear strange rustlings. Perhaps it is the bedspread or the sheets? I stand a little closer, wishing my vision was enough to see through walls -

- Suddenly the door bursts open, and I am faced with Yuffie shoving her knife at my throat. Though I am quick enough to evade this attack - though it was apparent to me that the door was opening before she actually emerged - I humor her and allow myself to act as prey. I should have known she was concealing other weapons in her clothes.

Her will is fierce. She presses the knife closer, glowering. She snarls. "Where are we? And who are you? And how do you how exactly know about those creeps from Shinra who want me dead?"

_**THIRST**_


End file.
